The Devil in Red White and Blue
by aphrodite931
Summary: Supernatural and Hetalia crossover. Long ago, demons made an unspoken rule that they would not possess nations but one demon seems to have broken rule and the nations along with the Winchesters must come up with a solution before all hell breaks loose, literally. Rating might go up.
1. And Rome Burned

A/N: So, first off, an apology for all forgotten and on hiatus stories and the fact that I always seem to be posting more but trust me, I have a whole bunch of other unfinished ones that aren't up here so I'm not just posting everything I write. Anywho, the only reason that this is even getting posted in because of my roommate who loves Hetalia and Supernatural and will probably goad me into finishing this so this story is a pretty safe bet if you ever want to read a completed work of mine. So yeah, here this is. Please tell me what you think in a review because the more reviews I see the more I see that people like this story and the harder I work to get a story cranked out. Thanks and enjoy!

The Devil in Red…White and Blue

"Burn it."

"…Ex-excuse me-"

The soldier was caught short in his question by the touch of cool, sharpened steel against his neck. The blade swung true and his head fell to the floor before the muscles in his body could realize its disappearance and grow lax. Eventually the body fell to the ground in a bloody heap.

"Here," the brunette called, holding out a torch to a stunned subordinate. The officer ripped his gaze from his captian's severed head and onto the man in front of him. He was unsure of his rank but he was clearly above the man he had just decapitated and therefore, above him. With a shaky arm he reached out his hand to take the burning wood from the man. His eyes flickered in the light of the flames, briefly turning black for a second.

"Set fire to those slums," he ordered, directing the young officer with his finger. The building was poorly constructed, evidence of the destitute neighborhood they were in. The walls were made of mixture of mud and straw, the roof completely composed of thickets of thatch. The whole house would be ablaze in a matter of minutes.

With a last sidelong glance at his once, respected captain, his mouth open and eyes still wide as a scarlet pool painted the tips of his amber locks, the officer walked to the abode. His steps were slow and his arm shook the torch, casting shadows about the narrow street. When he found himself face to face with the wall, he extended his arm. The flames seemed to leap from the torch and onto the wall with little effort and he could only watch as the black night sky grew brighter under a burning orange glow.

And as if bound by some hellish intention, the wind picked up. Burning embers sprung to life and were carried by the breeze to the neighboring roofs where they in turn created new fires. The blaze continued to spread in a similar fashion until the night sky became so bright it could be confused for the day. The only sound that could be heard amongst the roar of the flames were the desperate cries of people being burned alive.

"Forward, on to the next section."

The soldier turned to face the strapping brunette. His hair fell in a messy cascade above his hazel eyes, flickers of orange and red dancing in the dark orbs.

"Next section?" Another member of the garrison asked.

"Yes, Rome will be alit tonight," the man answered, a grin on his face.

And Rome burned for six days and six nights, the glow reaching so far that cities miles away were awed at the sight. Rumors flew and whispers of a foul plot grew heavy in the air. The citizens of the Empire spoke of the young, new, and eccentric Emperor and how his desire for a new stage fit for a God could finally be made now that half the city lay in ashes. Some mentioned how he fiddled as the city burned and lastly, hushed talk of garrison setting out to set the capital ablaze was amongst the claims. However, none would come to learn of the true cause of the fire; at least no humans.

This world is far more complicated and complex than mere mortals are led to believe. Out of ignorance or fear, they fool themselves into believing they are the only sentient creatures on this Earth. Monsters of the night are mere myths and superstitious nonsense. They are used to instill morals or frighten children into good behavior and little else. But these stories are born from truth. The monsters of the dark, do indeed, exist. But, as stated previously, humans are unaware and as such, could never imagine the truth behind the burning of Rome.

The truth of this tragedy lies with the existence of nations. Nations are not merely plots of land controlled under a ruling human population but rather individual entities that represent their people, good and ill, vice and virtue. And on that particular July, 18th a nation found himself subjugated to a dark and evil power. The newest religion of the time, one that believed in merely one God, referred to this evil as demons.

After the devastation had been wrought and the foul beast satisfied, thus leaving its host, the King of Hell called for his minions. The tragedy of the fire was truly a remarkable feat, one any demon could be proud of, but the King was not pleased. He realized that in an attempt to establish power and take it, such acts would only continue and intensify and possibly lead to the end of the human race. That was a task set aside for Lucifer himself and only Lucifer. And what would demons do in the meantime if all of humanity was wiped from the Earth anyhow? Therefore, after that day, demons were never permitted to possess a nation ever again.

However, being a demon means that rules are made to be broken.

* * *

Please Review! PLEASE! I'm needy!


	2. Sunglasses at Night

Authors Note is at the end, please read it!

Sunglasses at Night

The warm phosphorescent glow of the overhead lights illuminated the room in a yellow light. A cherry wood desk stood in front of three floor length windows, the drapes now drawn shut as night had fallen. The carpet was a pristine cream; the only mar in the color was an emblem imbedded into the floor. The official seal of the United States was placed in the middle, the circular nature of the seal echoing the oval nature of the room.

Alfred's eyes blinked open blearily, his armed raised to shield him from the sudden intrusion of light.

'Damn, and I was having such an awesome dream too,' the blonde lamented, recalling the fantasy. McDonalds had created a new burger that was zero calories meaning you could eat it till the cows came home and not gain an ounce of weight. And best of all, they were applying similar technology to their fries and shakes!

His blue irises widened as he became more aware of his surroundings. His leg was sprawled over the top of the pristine, plush couch decorating the interior of the office. A light blanket had been draped over top of him, most likely the actions of the First Lady. It was sweet but what would have been sweeter would be to have woken him up and have him sleep in a real bed. Couches were killer on the back! Groaning slightly, America shifted. He grimaced as he heard some 'pops' as he stretched.

A knock at the door altered him to the oncoming presence. Turning his head, and shedding himself of the blanket, Alfred faced the door. He was met by an official looking man, donned in a black suit. He recognized him as Jonathon something; he couldn't remember the last name. Johnnie, as Alfred referred to him as (he never cared to call a person by their full name), looked just as official and stern as he normally did with one exception, he was wearing his sunglasses.

Alfred couldn't help himself from humming the tune, "I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can…" Truthfully, he had no idea what the rest of the lyrics were after that but he could still hum the tune.

"Hey, Johnnie, what's with the shades? Just get laser eye surgery or what?" Alfred joked.

"Not quite sir," Jonathon answered, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Alfred couldn't explain it but he felt a sudden chill run up his spine and didn't see the need to resist the urge to rub his arms searching for warmth. God did he feel cold…and was that sulfur he smelt? Was he getting sick?

'Damn, I thought the economy was getting better,' Alfred thought ruefully. He was not looking forward to high intensity bed rest and England's 'get better scones'. If he didn't know better, he'd think Arthur was trying to poison him.

Alfred was drawn from his self pity when the lights in the room flickered. Normally, lights flickering wouldn't have upset him but this was the White House. Lights didn't flicker in here. They stayed on when turned on and stayed off when turned off.

"Oh my God! Johnnie! Did you see that!? The lights just flickered! Are we under attack!? …Or worse! Do you think a ghost is here!? Johnnie! You need to save me! It's your job!" America cried clutching to the uptight man.

Jonathon in turn, held on to Alfred and shushed him.

"Don't worry sir. We aren't under attack and there is no ghost here."

"But how do you know!? Ghosts are invisible!"

"Because no ghost would dare come here now."

Alfred paused, his heart beginning to race.

"Why…why is that?" Alfred asked, taking a step away from Jonathon, a twinge of fear evident in his voice.

"Because right now, in this room…there's something far worse," Jonathon smiled, his eyes turning black.

Alfred didn't even have time to scream.

* * *

"Sam, look at the rack on this chick," Dean yelled.

"Dean, do you really think I care about the breasts of some girl on the television," Sam sighed, a toothbrush in hand as he emerged from the bathroom of the hotel. The room was small, as per the usual so the Winchesters hardly noticed the cramped confides. The rooms were a dingy beige and were probably white at some point. The carpet was paper thin and scratched the bottom of ones bare feet.

"With a chest like that you should care… unless you're gay."

"Shut up," Sam answered, watching the screen just before it burst into flames, "What the hell are you watching anyway?"

"I dunno but it has an amazingly hot chick and a shit ton of explosions so should I even care?"

"Maybe you should try to watch something more educational…?"

Dean stared blankly back at Sam.

"…Like the news? You know, find a new lead for us. Something we can hunt and kill…?"

"Sammy, the news isn't just going to have a bulletin saying, 'Demon on loose, please capture and destroy.'"

"Just turn on the news," Sam sighed.

"Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam answered, returning to the bathroom.

"In recent news, tremors have struck the East coast of the United States in an unprecedented manner. Many scientists are still baffled as to this disaster but one thing is for certain, considering the current crippling economy the effects are far from positive."

"Looks like there's some rough weather on the East coast," Dean called out.

"Demon related?"

"I don't know…when was the last time you heard of Washington D.C. being hit by an earthquake?"

"What?!" Sam exclaimed, rushing into the room once more. "There isn't even a fault line there!"

"Yeah, they say a whole bunch of smart guys have their panties in a twist over it."

"Dean, this doesn't sound like your average natural disaster to me," Sam said, turning up the volume.

"The President will now be conducting a special interview pertaining to the matter now," the anchor woman announced as the screen switch from various images of devastation to the President striding up to a podium. Three men followed in tow, the first two obviously belonging to Secret Service detail and the last was a rather young blonde. He didn't look much older than someone in their mid-twenties and could easily be mistaken for a teenager.

"Thank you all for being here today. I promise I will get to the majority of your questions after the speech so if you could please refrain from asking questions until then," the President announced amongst rapid clicks of shutters opening and closing to get pictures of the man. "America has long been the country of hope and opportunity. It is the one nation founded upon the belief that a boy born into poverty can die wealthier than he ever imagined. Ideas are formed here and inventions created. And as blessed as we are, we have not been spared the pain and suffering so many other countries face. We have survived through recession and acts of terrorism, standing firm no matter the obstacle. We refuse to compromise our ideals: freedom, independence, and the right to pursue happiness, amongst others; and we are regardless of the cost because we know these foundations are worth the every ounce of blood and every life lost fighting for them. We are a strong and proud nation which is why it pains me to say that the events which occurred the other day were not acts of nature but acts of war. My advisors have led me to believe that those responsible behind these reprehensible acts are none other than those that we call our allies, the United Kingdom. So, it is in this address to both the people and those men and women of Congress that I call out to and plead your assistance in defeating those that would see this nation perish from the Earth. Thank you."

"Dean, what the hell is going on?" Sam asked as the reporters began asking questions in a tizzy.

"I don't know Sammy," Dean answered, staring back at the TV screen in shock. "Do you think they'll start a draft?" he joked.

"I don't know-" Sam smiled at his brother quip before his eyes fell onto the blonde youth, "Wait! Dean, go back!"

"What? I can't."

"What do you mean you can't!? Just use DVR!"

"What the hell is that?"

"Just press the rewind button!"

Dean fumbled with the remote for a moment before Sam ripped the device from his hand and rewound the press conference.

"There! Right there! Do you see it!" Sam exclaimed, pausing the tape and point to the young blonde. It was only for a brief second but the sign was undeniable. His eyes were black.

"Well, cover me hair, paint my but red, and call me a monkey's uncle."

"I know rig- wait…what?"

"…What? It's an expression."

Sam merely continued to stare at his brother.

"Just knock it off will ya'? Let's get a move on ok?"

"Whatever you say," Sam answered, sliding past him. His bag already packed from the night before.

"Washington D.C. here we come," Dean breathed out lowly, before grabbing his own bag and walking out the door.

* * *

So I think I'll keep up with short chapters because that way I don't get so bogged down and chapters are updated frequently. I hope you're all ok with this and like the story thus far. Please tell me any comments, concerns, or corrections you may have for me in a review or message. Also, tell me what you think of a USUK or vice versa pairing in this! Thanks and by bye!


	3. What the Bloody Fuck

What the Bloody Fuck

"What the bloody fuck?!"

The blonde threw his remote at the television, shattering the controller upon impact. Livid emerald orbs were transfixed on the screen although his thoughts were elsewhere. And though it may be strange to insist that a particular location isn't suited for certain emotions the humble abode the small blonde called home was certainly not a scene typical of such anger. The room was littered with porcelain centerpieces and intricate lace and floral patterns, most of which were obviously homemade. The area was one decorated with care and humility, combined with an old world taste that most had forgotten in this day and age.

"What the bloody fuck does he mean_ I'm_ responsible!?"

Arthur's chest puffed out at the deceleration. He hadn't been this upset since 1776 and by now he thought that that was behind them… they could finally move forward but now…Those blasted words of Independence had come back to haunt him. And at such a time as well, he thought America and his self were turning a new leaf but obviously not. He was merely doped just as he has always been. No one would ever love him. No one ever has… so why was his heart aching liking it was? England was drawn from his tirade and self-pity when the ring of a phone interrupted the relative silence of the room.

"Hello?" England all but shouted into the receiver.

"Sir, we have a problem."

England recognized the voice as one of his own M16 agents. The name escaped him.

"You think I don't bloody well know that!?" England shouted back. "This is all a bunch of bullocks! We're innocent,_ I'm_ innocent!"

"I know sir but if America does manage to declare on us, we must have a strategy ready to beat them."

"Beat them…" Arthur thought, visions of the last war he fought against America with flooding his brain. There was blood, pain, tears, and a particular bastard he had met years before.

"…Crowley," England growled into the receiver.

"…Excuse me sir?"

"It's nothing, I'll contact you later," England answered, slamming the phone down on the receiver. "Much later."

England spun on his heel, abandoning the living room. His footsteps fell heavy on the hard wood floor, the sound reverberating through the house. His trek drug him farther down into the house, until he reach a lone door. The room was far beneath any of his other levels and ancient cinderblock decorated the walls. England grabbed a black cloak from the wall, donning the garment quickly.

The hood sheathed his hair but his emerald eyes were impossible to hide from beneath the hood. However, within the sanctity of his own home such precaution wasn't needed. England pulled free various bottles from the selves in his basement, mixing them in a bowl before finishing the ritual in an ancient incantation.

England stood in silence for a minute before the enchantment lines began to glow even brighter.

"Oh, England, how I missed you so…Did you know that I actually thought you forgot about me?" a voice called out from behind England. The nation jumped, spinning around to face the man…well man wasn't the correct term but it still fit, addressing him.

"You know it's polite to appear within the circle," England growled.

"Aw, but that's no fun now is it love?" Crowley smirked back. "So what is it this time? Do you want to be an empire again or what because this time around my prices have been driven up. Being the new King of Hell makes a mere snogging and little colony are hardly sufficient funds anymore."

"They were more than sufficient you bloody bastard, particularly since you never explained the full cost of the deal."

"Oh, is that bitterness I sense? Come now love, you seriously didn't think calling upon a demon wouldn't cost you anything-"

"I didn't think it would cost me him!" England snapped. His eyes focused on the demon, his hatred for the creature clearly seen in his emerald orbs.

"Regardless, I presume you didn't just call me here to talk about your precious little America," Crowley smirked, pleased at the nation's display.

"Actually," England sighed, collecting himself once more, "I did."

"I've told you a hundred times, I won't let him become a colony of yours again…but Russia-"

"Don't you even think of letting Russia have him."

"Why not? He's a far more friendly host," Crowley smiled although the shiver that racked his body betrayed his true feelings about the northern nation.

"I swear to God, I will kill you one day," England growled.

"Good luck love, you won't be the first to try…but I suppose you'd be the only one whose soul I wouldn't carry off to hell in the end. Now for what business do you bring me to your…grandmother's house?" Crowley asked, his lips twitching up at the mild dig at England's décor.

The nation ignored the demon's jibe, opting to get down to business.

"So you know nothing about as to why I called you here?" England asked, closely scrutinizing the demon's face so as to determine whether his answer was truthful or not.

"If you want me to rid you of those monsters you call eyebrows, I'm afraid even with all of the power of hell behind me I won't be able to," Crowley quipped.

"My eyebrows are not that huge!" England cried, slapping his hands to his forehead to hide the aforementioned eyebrows.

"I beg to differ," Crowley drawled, helping himself to a glass of old scotch England had resting on his shelf. The blonde had found a long time ago many demons took well to alcohol and were far easier to deal with after a bit in them. It wasn't that they got drunk but merely appreciated the gesture… and taste.

The two merely tolerated each others presence for a while, England's hands slowly falling from his face as the demon's comment faded and Crowley sipped his scotch.

"So you don't have anything to do with America declaring war on _me_?" England finally spat. The nation was already growing tired of the demon's presence and if beating around the bush kept him around longer then he'd spit out whatever thought was plaguing him right now.

"America declaring war?" Crowley parroted, his eyes narrowing. He hadn't caught wind of any war brewing. Aside from a mild economic recession, the world was the best it has ever been… for the most part. This most certainly didn't seem to be of mortal design and that notion certainly worried him. Ever since the burning of Rome, there was an undeclared truce with nations. Demons wouldn't mess directly with nations, unless called upon. It was bad for business. Such destruction tended to ruin societies and ruined societies were no fun to wreak havoc upon.

England scrutinized the demon, reading his facial expressions and was mildly surprised to believe Crowley's confusion to be genuine.

"…I guess not. I suppose you can go-"

Crowley heard England begin to comment before he felt a nagging sensation in his gut. He was being called somewhere and considering the most recent bit of information he had a good inclination of who was calling him.

"Excuse me love, I seem to have another call coming in," Crowley told England before disappearing in a puff on black smoke. The smoke was unnecessary but he knew it would annoy England so he did it anyway.

"Bloody Bastard!" England coughed as he tried to shield his mouth with his arm.

* * *

Somewhere in America…

"Why do you think he's taking so long?"

"I don't know, maybe he's getting hot and heavy with a lady demon," Dean answered his brother as they stood around the summoning circle they drew in the hotel room. As always, it was a cheap looking motel made up of one room consisting of two beds and a small closet that the owners had the audacity to call a bathroom.

"Hardly," Crowley answered, appearing to their right, taking both men off guard.

"Well, good of you to finally show up," Dean bit back.

"You know, I merely have to go to where I'm summoned. I don't have to stay and listen to the idle dribbles of humans, particularly when they're conducted in such pathetic shacks like this. Oh look, two beds this time, you two have stopped cuddling then?" Crowley bit back. Damn, did he hate these two; even when they were useful they aggravated him.

"Firstly, ewww. And second, I'm _so_ sorry princess. Us pitiful humans were just curious as to what little scheme you've got cooked up."

"Well, I must apologize boys because I have no idea as to what you are referring to," Crowley answered, already missing England's scotch. It wasn't his preferred brand but it was a damn good vintage and few other summoners bothered to leave such good alcohol lying about.

"The demon in the White House. Why is he possessing that guy and what's going on with this war?" Sam asked, his tone hard and graveled.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. I have many other clients and make many deals."

"You've made deals with Presidents before?"

"You seriously don't think that fiasco regarding votes in Florida was mere human error did you?"

Sam and Dean exchanged mildly bewildered looks but quickly brushed it off.

"So what? This whole possessing that White House guy and having America declare war is part of some plan of yours?"

"Actually Dean, only Congress can declare war, although it's unlikely Congress will go against the President if he wants to have a war."

"Oh who the hell cares about how the system works Sammy. All that matters is that I smell a demon behind this crap and I think it's all a load of bull."

"Now, if you and moose here and done with your little fun fact of the day time, would you mind telling me why you think I'm behind this whole war business?"

Neither answered, instead, Sam picked up his laptop and replayed the press conference from a few hours ago, pausing to freeze the frame where the blonde's eyes went black.

"Bloody hell," Crowley murmured.

"What?" Dean asked, mild vexation in his voice coupled with concern because if Crowley was concerned then they sure as hell should be.

"Well, it seems I'll be putting you two pets to good use once more," Crowley said turning to face the brothers.

"Listen dillweed, were not your 'pets' and just what the hell is going on?" Dean bit.

Crowley ignored the older human's angry quip, opting to address the ladder question, "I suppose I should let you know I'm not behind this -although war has typically suited my existence- and that the situation is a bit more dire than a mere White House staff member being possessed."

"Why? Who is that guy?" Sam asked.

"That I can't tell you but if he is possessed, no good will come of it. I won't be able to help you much-"

"When do you ever?" Dean retorted, earning a dirty look from the demon.

"-but, I can get you in touch with some potentially useful contacts of mine."

"Great, I just love demons," Dean said sarcastically.

"Don't get your nickers in a twist; they aren't demons…at least not exactly. Although I know some would disagree with me there," Crowley answered, shivering as he thought of the Russian nation for the second time that day.

"Why can't you help us?" Sam asked, focusing on the demon's previous comment.

"Well, I'm a demon number one. Helping humans isn't typically in our repertoire, and I'm afraid I'll be a bit preoccupied in hell because pardon the expression, but I have a feeling all hell is about to break loose. Good luck boys… Oh! And try not to take anything the short, bushy eyed bloke says too seriously. He's had a stick up his ass for the past few centuries."

* * *

A/N: So I'm sorry I didn't update this sooner but my life has pretty much been work, work, and work. My only day off was yesterday so I cranked this out. I know, it's pretty short for having an entire but what can I say, I dun write so good. ;p Anyhow, thanks for all of your feedback and answering my questions. Seriously almost no one reads the Authors note and my queries are often ignored. So thanks to everyone who commented, followed, etc. I still don't know if I will do an official pairing with USUK but I might since no one seems bothered by it. Thanks again! I love you all and I hope you enjoyed this!


	4. COBRA

COBRA

"Our American ambassador claims that the tension in the West is rapidly increasing and the threat of Congress declaring war is a real possibility," the man announced in a voice a bit too loud for the small room. England winced slightly, his eyes focused on the wall of tellies in the background, the majority of which had the American press conference replaying. England's gaze was quickly torn from the screens when a loud slap echoed throughout the enclosure. The Brit nearly ducked under the table half expecting the source of the sound to be a bomb going off. He truthfully wasn't quite sure the reaction was a result of the current situation with America or from his past few experiences in this room and those like them. The press had taken to the nickname COBRA but officially it was known as the Cabinet Office Briefing Room A. Typically, the room was silent and even when occupied, i.e. Avian flu outbreak, London Riots, etc., the tension never felt as thick as it did now. This building had never seen war before, not a real war like the one England experience only 70 decades or so prior or the one it was being threatened with now, but even still, England could feel his memories lapse back to when explosions were merely common background noise as he discussed and listened to various battle plans. He sure hoped that such a sound would not become a norm for him once more.

"War is not an option!" A woman exclaimed, her previous slap drawing the rooms undivided attention.

"What do you mean war isn't an option? Are you trying to tell us that should the Americans declare war we merely roll over and submit?" A man across the table from her answered, rising from his chair. His expression was livid.

"We will lose. We cannot beat them!"

"We can't just slink our tails between our legs either! And what of allies? America has not made many friends in this new world!"

"Oh. So I suppose we should just call up Ahmadinejad and Castro then? Presuming they'd be willing to help and that they'd even be of much help in the first place, what would happen lest we win? We'd become their new target not to mention the PR nightmare the entire affair would cause! BBC just released a story a few days ago detailing the child soldiers and punishments for women that are raped in the Middle East!" Another man piped up.

"What do you propose we do then?!"

England sighed as the bickering continued. Almost as soon as Crowley left, officials had burst into his house and practically spirited away to the war room. Thankfully, they had brought a suit for him to change into because he certainly didn't want to see his various cabinet members dressed in his jammies... and summoning cape. However, having to change in the car while members of M16 and political aides were watching him was rather awkward.

"England, what do you have to say about this? Has America spoken to you?"

Letting out a brief huff and closing his eyes as he squeezed the bridge of his nose England answered, "No, the bloody Git hasn't said a word to me. I don't have any clue as to what is going on but whatever happens, I do not want to go to war with him again."

The room fell into a brief silence, the officials unsure how to respond. Thankfully, they were spared from the silence when the door flew open.

"What? Has America made a move towards attack – What the hell!? Who are you! Where is Atkins!?"

"Not 'What the' but 'King of' don't fret though, I get that a lot," Crowley smirked, enjoying the perplexed looks the occupants of the room gave him. "Oh, hello David."

Mr. Cameron blanched, all eyes were on him now even England's who was mildly surprised the demon and the Prime Minister were acquainted.

"Don't worry though, I'm not here for you but I do have some rather urgent business with the bushy-eyed bloke there."

"Crowley," England growled, his mild shock gone at the minor jibe. England ignored the condescending grin on the demon's face as he stood up and met him at the door.

"After you your highness," Crowley joked, dipping his head low in a fake bow.

"Bloody twit," England retorted, walking out of the stunned room with the demon in tow. "Jesus Crowley, just what the hell do you think you're doing popping up here?"

"You know, I don't believe I've ever had anyone use that name and my own in the same sentence."

"Is this what you dragged me out here for because if it is, I'll have you know I'll make you rue the day you doubled crossed me."

"I'm demon. We aren't exactly the noble sort and besides I never double crossed a soul, I only collect. You made the deal remember?"

"You didn't explicitly explain the cost–" England had begun to yell before cutting his own tirade short and collecting his breath. It would be no good to get into the same tired old argument with the smug bastard, at least at this current time.

"You know you should really watch that temper of yours. It's bad for your health…or so I hear," Crowley grinned.

"So is dealing with demons," England retorted.

"Touché and while there is nothing I'd enjoy more than continuing our little pillow talk I must digress; I have some news I think you might appreciate."

"Oh really? And just what has happened in the past few hours since we last spoke to suddenly make you so useful?"

Crowley frowned but as his time was running short he felt it best not to tease or provoke the blonde any further and tell the blonde the situation plainly.

"America's possessed."

"…What?"

"From his amber waves of grain to purple mountain majesty, he's possessed and I'm afraid I can't deal with this at the moment."

"What?"

"…I don't know how to put it clearer. If I didn't know better I'd think I was talking to the Hardy Boys," Crowley remarked, thinking of Sam and Dean. "But I suppose I can try; you know how those Middle Eastern blokes tend to say America is the devil? Well, they wouldn't exactly be wrong at the moment–"

"I know what being possessed means!" England snapped. "What I meant to say was 'how', 'why', and just what the bloody fuck do you mean you can't deal with this at the moment? You're the one who won't shut up about being the King of Hell so why don't you real in that little horned bastard and drag them back to Hell? Do you have an appointment with the Queen or something that you just can't miss?!"

"In regards to the latter question, not for another few years," Crowley joked, making England shudder. He had had some pretty brutal leaders in the past that certainly deserved to be dragged off to hell but the current Queen was not one of them. "However, there are some issues back home that I most attend to lest you might be dealing with a new devil."

"Oh, that'd be a shame," England snorted.

"You know what they say about the devil you know…"

"Yes, although I wouldn't mind testing out the theory."

"I'm wounded," Crowley mocked. "I suppose you won't want the help I've arranged for you then?"

"Help?" England asked, a little surprised the demon had bothered, despite that he was being of some use at the moment.

"Well, I'm not sure how much help those two will be but they have been rather useful pets thus far. Here's the number for the atrocity of a hotel they're staying at. Just ask for Moose."

"Moose?"

"Well, that's all the time I have left. Please do your best and save the world and all that nonsense," Crowley said, ignoring England's questioning tone before disappearing in a cloud of black smoke…again.

England coughed upon the sulfur smelling cloud, muttering curses all the while.

* * *

"STOP! STOP! STOP!" America screamed at the top of his lungs but to no avail. Nothing he did worked; and truthfully, he was getting tired of even trying. It had been like this ever since Johnson, who by now America had figured wasn't really Johnson, had attacked him. His body moved without him wanting it to, it would speak when he wanted it to shut up, and he hadn't had a hamburger in _days_!

He was a prisoner in his own body and his captor was hell bent on making him do awful things. All he could do was watch as this imposter whispered words of deceit into the President's ears and threatened members of Congress as the declaration of war was being passed throughout the legislature. It was beyond excruciating. He felt as if he was going insane and the worst part of it, aside from attempting to declare war England, was the voice. It came at sporadic intervals, occasionally leaving America to his own devices but it reveled in his pain and suffering. It used his memories, his insecurities, and his fears to tear him to shreds.

Alfred essentially only knew one thing, whatever this was, it was hell.

* * *

A/N: So I know nothing of the British war department and what goes on. All I know is that there is a room called COBRA and I read on Wikipedia (I know, such a reputable source) that it is roughly equivalent to the White House's Situation Room. So I threw a little bit of America in there for all y'all because when considering the story is about him, he hasn't been in here much. I really don't know what it would be like to be possessed but I assume that aside from just making you watch them do bad things, they'd also take some time to torture their host. I mean, demons don't sleep and I figure they'd get bored at some point so why not mentally berate the person their possessing. I hope you all like it. I don't know if it's any good. Expect some more nations in the next chapter!


	5. A Cast of Countries

A Cast of Countries

A/N: So I'm doing part of the author's note up here first and forefront because I really want all of you lovely people to read this because it's all about how awesome you are! Yes you! I want to thank everyone who reads this story and comments because it means so much to me. I honestly didn't believe it would garner such wonderful fans like you. Seriously! You guys comment and cheer me on all the time. It makes me want to write 24/7 and work harder on this story. So thank you, thank you. I am the biggest comment whore like ever so thank you for making my, day week, month, year! You truly don't understand just how often I check my email after posting a new chapter to see if someone reviewed yet. :) So thank you again! You're all awesome! Your comments make me laugh, smile, and sometimes consider possibilities and even if I don't respond to them, I always read them! :) Thank you! Also, I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter. I've been working doubles just about every other day. I feel like a zombie.

* * *

The sun shone brightly in the azure sky, scattered clouds marring the vast expanse. To put it plainly, it was unusual. And although a small smile was a lit on the man's face, it merely served to belie his brewing inner turmoil. Such a facade was not unusual. But on this particular day, the man's snow ridden heart would be correct in its dark musing, only not in a way the frozen nation would have enjoyed. His perturbed thoughts often led him to day dream of lions chasing after little Latvia or literally painting the town red using his pipe as a brush and…well you can imagine just what would be the paint.

But the unnatural weather and foul taste in the air led Russia to believe something was terribly astray. He wouldn't learn of just what upset his senses until later that evening when he was rudely roused from bed by a shaking subordinate. Whether the man was quivering from fear, cold, or God knows what else, Russia didn't bother to know.

"What is wrong?" Russia asked, a deceptively friendly smile forming on his lips.

"Y-You are-are needed in th-the wa-war room."

Russia quirked a brow but withheld any comments. Pushing past the small man, who breathed a sigh of relief as the nation passed him, Russia walked down the hallways brimming with curiosity. When he reached the door no sound could be heard inside as is to be expected considering the room was soundproof. Even if war wasn't common practice in these days, there are certain secrets all nations prefer to keep. Maintaining his smile, Russia opened the door and walked into the room. His happy expression stood in stark contrast to the grim faces.

"What is wrong?" Russia asked for the second time that night.

"America has declared war."

"What?" Russia asked, his smile failing.

"The American President has openly declared the United Kingdom as the country's enemy. Any official declaration has yet to be made but I doubt the American Congress would so openly defy their president, particularly if the address is believed by the American people."

"Has England tried to contact me?"

"Not yet," an official answered.

Russia breathed a sigh of relief. While it was no secret America and Russia had differences in the past and even now their relationship was strained, he did not wish for vengeance or any harm to come to the younger nation. He would not get involved in this war unless necessary. Of course, he figured that considering the vast supply of overly destructive weapons, the time to choose a side would eventually come lest the world turn to ash; although, such a possibility was more than plausible as well even if he did join.

…Perhaps he could speak to America. Communication and reason had led to the diffusion of their own feud.

"Book me a flight to Washington D.C."

"What? You can't go there now! What do you think the other nations will think?"

"The other nations won't be made aware. I need to speak with America directly, face to face."

Russia could sense the hesitation within the room.

"America and I fought the only war that didn't culminate into bloodshed. I believe I am the one nation most qualified to mollify this situation."

No one answered as they could not disagree with the logic. If Russia could quell the tides of war before they began, the entire world would be better for it. A war between England and America would change the world indefinitely, just as it had done hundreds of years prior.

"I expect to have a plane ready in an hour," Russia announced and left the room.

* * *

"Stupid potato eating bastard! I want to see my brother dammit so let him out!" Romano shouted, flailing his arms wildly about before the exasperated German.

The blonde sighed, pinching the bridge of nose in hopes it would stem the headache he could feel forming. "Just as I've told you ten times before, you're brother isn't here right now. I do not have him tied up and locked in the basement or any other room for that matter despite what you may believe!" Germany answered, unable to prevent himself from shouting back at the irritating Italian.

"Lying Kraut!"

"Was ist wrong bruder?"

Germany turned to face the albino man coming up behind him.

"Romano here thinks Feli is somewhere in the house," Germany sighed.

"Well I did hear some cries from your bedroom last night West," Prussia smiled, nudging Germany's shoulders as the Italian's face grew red and he sputtered.

"FELI! FELI! I'm coming to get you!" Romano said, charging past the two Germanic nations and up the staircase situated behind the door. "FELI!" the Italian cried, slamming open all the doors that were closed. By the time he reached the end of the hallway, the Italian was panting heavily before a voice drew his attention back to the staircase.

"If you're quite finished," Germany drawled, Prussia behind him snickering. "Mein Bruder here was lying about the sounds he heard-or well didn't hear, last night. And as I've told you before, your brother is vacationing with Japan at the moment."

"How do I know he's not tied up in the basement?"

"I already told you he's not but if you are so fixated on finding out, go and look," Germany sighed.

"I will Kraut-face!" Romano answered, brushing past the two nation(s) once again to search the lower half of the house. An hour later, the exhausted Italian found the brothers sitting in the kitchen.

"I told you to watch the potatoes! Now you've over boiled them!" Germany yelled at Prussia.

"Stupid bastard. You can't over-boil potatoes," Romano answered.

"You shouldn't have said that. Bruder here is very serious about his potatoes," Prussia answered as he watched the color in Germay's face shift from white, to red, to purple. This would be quite the explosion. Prussia couldn't help but snicker.

"Potatoes are very sensitive and easy to cook incorrectly! How dare you insult the noble vegetable!"

"All your potatoes are bland and inedible to any human with a decent palate."

Prussia flinched at the insult and dared to look over at a quivering Germany. Anger emanated off his entire being.

"GET OUT!" Germany screeched! "OUT! OUT! OUT! Your brother isn't here so leave verdammit!" Germany yelled, ushering the smaller nation out of his home.

"Fucking Kraut! Let me go you bastard!" Romano screeched, fighting the blonde every step of the way.

"Your brother isn't here so go home!"

"Fine, it's no wonder the fucking potato-eater is such a bastard," Romano yelled as he was tossed onto the cobblestones leading up to the house. He curled up on himself, feeling the cold of the more northern climate wrap around him.

"It's not like I haven't told you where he is," Germany sighed, feeling slightly bad for letting his temper get the better of him; he just didn't like his potatoes being insulted.

Romano answered with chocked sobs as he desperately tried to dry his tears.

Upon hearing the sobs, Germany wondered if he had hurt the smaller nation.

"Are you alright?" Germany asked, taking a step towards the Italian.

"Go away!" Romano protested, attempting to shoo the blonde away.

"Not until I know you're ok. Feli would be upset to know I had let his brother get hurt and didn't offer to help," Germany answered.

"Feli's the one I'm worried about though," Romano sobbed.

Germany froze, his blue-eyed gaze studying the Italian closer than he ever had before.

"Why?" he whispered.

"I just- I have this feeling," Romano supplied, but his words sounded guarded and unsure as if he wasn't ready to trust Germany just yet. Romano might not share the same pure blood as his brother but being a part of the same country, he could tell when evil was let loose on this earth and right now, his blood was boiling in warning.

Germany gave a long stare at the man in front of him before a sigh escaped his lips.

"If you're so concerned, I'll go with you to Japan to see him…although I don't know why you didn't go there in the first place. I'm not some demon who would lock someone up for no reason," Germany replied, hoping to quell the Italian's qualms and perhaps ensure the northern Italian that he was safe as well.

Italy seemed rather concerned by his statement and stared at him quizzically.

"No, not you. You aren't a demon I can tell," Romano answered much to Germany's dismay. "That doesn't mean I like you though!" Romano followed, taking a more defensive stance.

The blonde sighed but opted to ignore the latter comment.

"I'll go arrange a plane then," Germany said, walking back into his house to call his boss.

"Feli, please be alright," Romano cried, cradling his head in his hands.

* * *

"Itary, are you awrright?" Japan asked again hoping the typically bubbly nation would respond this time. Only seconds ago, Italy had been amiably chatting over the merits of cooking, primarily pasta, whilst they walk about Japan's personal gardens until he seized up and clutched his heart before falling to the floor. His breathing was ragged and it seemed as if he couldn't focus on what Japan was asking him.

Japan flinched in surprise when Italy's hand flew to his collar pulling loose a golden cross. The Asian's nation concern only mounted when the Italian began to mutter in Latin.

"Actiones nostras, quaesumus

Domine, aspirando praeveni et

adiuvando prosequere: ut cuncta

nosta oratio et operatio a te

semper incipiat et per ta coepta

finiatur. Per Christum Dominum nostrum.

A-A-Amen," Italy whispered, struggling to finish the prayer before he lost consciousness.

"I-Itary-san!" Japan exclaimed. He had no idea what was wrong with his friend but he knew he needed help. Japan quickly spirited the Italian nation back into his house and called for a doctor.

* * *

China studied the television quizzically. His country officials buzzed around him, tossing around calculations and political agendas in response to the American President's announcement. Essentially, China knew he'd lose either way the war went or who he sided with. If America lost, the chances China would get the money the American nation owed him were nil and if England lost, China would lose a valuable trade partner.

Not to mention, the whole business seemed bizarre in the first place: America declaring war on England because he supposedly caused his shoddy economy problems and whatever other ridiculous qualms he stated? The young super power was not the sort to recklessly go into war. Typically, an all-out attack on the nation was all that could provoke the younger into actions of war.

"Aiyah!" China sighed, before turning around to face the chaos behind him. He briefly considered the state of affairs things were in before making his decision. He doubted his presence would be missed at this point and truthfully, they didn't need him anyway. He'd merely serve as a consultant and they would do what they wanted in the end just as his leaders have always done. It hadn't bothered him as much when he was younger but now that he had garnered a few thousand years of experience under his belt, he wished his advice was taken with more credence. But he didn't have time to dwell on such self-absorbed notions for he knew he was needed elsewhere right not, even if the nation he meant to visit would ever admit it.

* * *

"Kesesesese," Gilbert snickered as he glanced about the house suspiciously. West and S. Italy left not too long ago but that didn't prevent the Prussian from sneaking about. West never left him alone…not for long anyway. Not after the one incident involving six kegs, a crocodile, two jars of honeys, and an inebriated England and Denmark. It wasn't pretty. But, it would seem West had forgotten about his dear brother for a moment and Prussia intended to use this over sight to his advantage.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Prussia dialed the first number on his list.

"Hola Amigo!" Spain voiced greeted cheerfully through the phone.

"Hold on, I'm going to dial in Francis," Prussia answered, hearing a 'Si' in the background.

"Oui?" Francis asked, his voice sounding tired.

"Francis, you're on a three way call with my awesome self and Antonio and boy do I have news for you."

"What's going on?" Spain asked merrily.

"Awesome things as usual but it's even awesomer today because mein bruder is gone and won't be back for a while. Kesesesese," Prussia laughed, feeling victorious despite that he had done nothing.

"Adious Mio, why would he do that?"

"He's gone to Japan to check on Feli after Romano showed up here bawling-"

"PORQUE?!" Spain shouted, frenzy quickly finding a way into his voice.

"Ja, he came by here earlier ranting about wanting to see his brother and Germany took him to go see him in Japan but anyway I thoug-"

"My poor little tomato! I must go see him and comfort him if he is so upset!" Spain announced hanging up his phone before Prussia could get a word in elsewise.

"…So not awesome," Prussia murmured in response before directing the full brunt on the conversation towards France but once again, he was cut off.

"Desole but I'm afraid I cannot revel with you either. In fact, I'm surprised you could be so jovial considering the situation."

'Situation'? Now that caught the albino's attention.

"Was ist los?"

"America might declare war."

"WAS!? On who!?"

"England," Francis replied solemnly.

"Warum!?"

"I don't know but I intend to find out. Canada has agreed to speak to him for me whilst I go visit England. He isn't answering his calls," Francis explained.

"…Ja, I understand," Prussia answered solemnly, letting his arm hang down and listlessly clicking the button to end the call. Prussia flopped over to the couch, staring blankly at the black television. Dear Lord he was sick of wars. They went too long, were too bloody, and came at far too high a cost. The albino cast a look over at the television remote on the table debating on whether or not he wanted to get up and reach it. Ultimately he did, the station already tuned to a news broadcast repeating the American president's address. Prussia clearly saw the familiar blonde in the background. He was smiling as if nothing was wrong as if he wasn't declaring war, as if- Hold up. What was that? Prussia's fingers flew to press the rewind button for the first time out of many more to come. The albino just didn't want to believe it. America's eyes turned black.

"This is so unawesome," Prussia whispered before scrambling off the couch and out the door, his cell phone left behind in his haste.

* * *

"You have reached the voice messaging system of… 'Arthur Kirkland', please leave a message at the bee-"

The blue-eyed nation flipped the phone shut, cutting off the machine. His lips fell, turning his typical grimace into a full on frown. Norway was not pleased. No doubt England would be busy at the moment; aside from his own officials, other countries, either willing to support him or content to watch the island nation go to war, would be trying to contact him; but, after watching the American press conference, Norway had urgent matters to discuss with the temperamental Brit.

"Norge-y!"

The elongated cry was all the warning the Nordic nation received before he was tackled to the ground.

"Anko-uzai," Norway grumbled as he struggled to push up against the familiar weight.

"Norge! I missed you!" Denmark grinned, stealthily shifting his weight to keep the irritated nation pinned beneath him.

"The notion wasn't mutual however," Norway spat, managing to shove the blonde off. If it had been any other nation, they would have ran in fear at the face Norway gave but Denmark laughed instead.

"Ahhh, don't be that way Norge-y."

Norway let loose a sigh, fixing his harshest glare on the taller nation, "Call me 'Norge-y' one more time and let's see what happens."

"But Norge-" was all Denmark could get out before he was thrown against a wall and dazing the man. Denmark groaned as he rubbed the back of his head and opened his eyes to look back at Norway. From his position on the floor, the other looked incredibly intimidating…and was it just him or were Norway's eyes glowing?

"…Norway?" Denmark prodded with a twinge or nervousness in his voice.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Norway asked menacingly as he approached the fallen Nordic nation.

* * *

Sorry this chapter took so long but I was trying to incorporate the majority of major characters in this story, or at least characters that will actively participate in the story in this one chapter aside from working on my AVMs and while working two jobs so yeah. I've been busy, I'm still sorry though. I just didn't want to upload half of this because I figured you would all love to see some Winchesters in the next chapter. Am I right? I must say, I bet I am. Thanks for your support. This story won't get dropped I promise, come hell or high water. I just hope you enjoy the ride. :)

Also, I'm looking for a Beta if anyone is interested. And when I say Beta, I'm thinking editor status. I want them to do more than correct my grammar but add points, provide a back and forth with me when I am stuck on what to have a character do, suggest new paragraphs/directions/etc., etc. So, if you think you're up for it, leave a review or PM me! :)

Thanks for reading and please review. Thanks lovely!


	6. Trouble w Blonds (& Albinos & Brunets)

The Trouble with Blonds (and Albinos and Brunets)

"Oi, Lukas!"

The call rang out through the crowded airport, forcing several people -aside from the man in question- to turn around and seek out the owner of the voice. A smiling brunet waved all too cheerfully at the stoic blonde across the way.

"Lukas! Over here!"

The blond sighed. The man was almost more annoying than a particular blond he knew… and had left incapacitated back home. The brunet began to wave even more frantically and yell louder, seemingly worried that Lukas had not heard him. Lukas snorted, as if anyone could somehow _not_ hear the Romanian's boisterous calls.

"Greetings Vasilica," Norway answered as he approached the Romanian. "I hope my request wasn't too much of an inconvenience," the blond said just to be polite. Truthfully, he didn't care; particularly when one considered the fate of the world was at stake.

"Nah, I was hoping to visit England since my plane had to stop here anyway."

"Where were you this time?" Norway asked a hint of mild disinterest evident in his voice. Romania traveled rather often "hunting" after various creatures and then preceding to regale the story in painstakingly exact detail to any nation within earshot til his or her ears bled.

"America! Washington to be exact. Apparently Edward Cullen isn't a real vampire and instead merely an actor playing a vampire. I mean, I thought it weird he wasn't hurt by sunlight but still-"

"You were in AMERICA!?" Norway all but screamed.

Romania flinched at the usually demure nation's shout and the growing menacing aura around him. And yes, Norway was irate to say the least. Had he not known that Romania possessed an anti-demonic charm tattooed on his body, he might have been concerned the nation was possessed as well. But knowing such was impossible, all he could feel was rage. Why was he always surrounded by such idiocy?

"…Yeah, is-is that wrong?" Romania asked, cowering before the Scandinavian.

"How-" Norway paused, words threatening to escape him forcing him to bite out each word painfully slow. "could you-", *deep breath* "not notice" *another deep breath* "the demon" this was by far the longest pause and Norway sucked in a deep gulp of air allowing him to shout out the rest of his question, "possessing America whilst you were in America!"

Romania blanched, unsure how to answer and thus let his mouth run amuck as his brain tried to catch up.

"America's possessed?"

Norway resisted the urge to hit something…or someone. It's times like these that Norway missed Denmark. The over enthusiastic blond was the perfect punching bag/stress relief.

"Yes," Norway hissed, "America's possessed and he's declared war on England!"

"What?! Oh my goodness! We've got to do something!"

"We are! That's why we're here!"

"Oh good! ….What's the plan?" Romania asked, sounding mildly confused.

"We're going to consult with England of course," Lukas answered his voice rife with annoyance and a hint of exasperation. Considering the situation, Lukas couldn't be sure England had gotten the opportunity to closely look at the American President's speech and might be unaware of the situation. He'd need to be informed and if he already knew, he'd probably need some help.

"Good plan! Thus far I mean… I probably could have made a better one that would take down the demon in one fell swoop but your 'slow and steady' method seems pretty good to me too!" Romania cheerily replied and in the process reminding Lukas as to why he tended to refuse the Romanian's requests to visit him. Of course they were friends but Lukas could hardly cope being in the presence of a sane nation let alone a batshit one… Speaking of which.

* * *

"MGRGHRH!"

"…Hello?"

"MMGHHHHMHMHHMMMM!"

"Berwarld…I'm scared," a timid voice whispered.

"'t's 'kay," a gruff and heavy accented voice answered.

"MMMRRHRDDDDDDDDRRRRRRRHH!"

"I think it's coming from in here," the quieter voice muttered as the person began to turn the handle. The door creaked open, light pouring into the darkened room. "Oh my God!" the voice cried, the words rushing together.

"Denmark!" Finland cried running to the bound, blindfolded, and gagged blond.

"YYAAAHHOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!" The Scandinavian nation cried as the duct tape was ripped from his mouth.

"Sorry," Finland replied sheepishly as he began to work on freeing the blonde from his constraints, having already been freed from his blindfold.

"'W'at did 'ou do?" Berwald asked shrewdly as his 'wife' continued to work on untying the ropes.

"Nothing!" Denmark whined, upset that Sweden had automatically presumed that he was in this situation because of something he did…which of course he was. "I was merely playing around with my little Norgey when I guess he decided he wanted to play hide and seek and since he knows I'm so awesome at finding him, he must have knocked me out and tied me up to up the difficulty," he explained, grinning broadly.

''diot,' Berwarld thought bitterly and would have rolled his eyes at the blond's self-concocted explanation… if he had been one to plainly show such expressions that is.

'Poor guy,' Finland thought more sympathetically than his 'husband'.

"But man, Norgey has gotten real good at his knot tying skills because I couldn't break those ropes for anything," Denmark laughed. "So thanks a bunch for coming along and freeing me. I bet Norgey is just worried to death about me so I best be going!" the blond practically sang as he leapt up and ran out the door past the two nations.

'diot', Berwarld couldn't help but mutter out loud this time.

* * *

"So…since we're going to be waiting here awhile, do you want to know why I was in Washington?" Both nations were currently seated in one of the rooms of England's Parliament building. After presenting themselves as what they were, they were graciously, albeit rushed, into the structure. It seemed the humans were under the impression that they had come in order to strike an alliance in this critical time.

"No."

"Ok, but only since you asked," Vlasilica chirped, not listening to Norway's answer, "it started when I went to the market back in Bucharest; did you know that the regular teller got married and moved to Sweden? I mean Sweden is lame compared to my country but I digress because you know just how spectacular Romania is. So anyway, back on topic. I went to the market and I overheard these two teenaged girls-"

*Many hours later*

"So, imagine my surprise when I get to this Forks, Washington place and there are no Cullens nor have there ever been! They are all fictional!" Romania finished his eyes wide as if he were still amazed that there were no 'real' Cullens.

"Dear Lord, just what is taking England!" Norway bit, beyond exasperated after being forced to listen to his companions inane tale of imbecility, "And Edward Cullen and his retarded vampire family were obviously fake!"

Vlasilica eyes immediately lost their amazed sparkle and a pout overtook his lips. The Romanian wasn't one to hide his feelings and anyone could clearly see the nation was extremely put out that his friend seemed to find the notion of Edward Cullen being a 'real' vampire ludicrous.

"I bet you're just being pissy because you thought they were real too but you found out they were fake before me and you just didn't want to look like the stupid one here." Vlacilica pouted.

Norway could feel his hands began to shake with the overwhelming urge to throttle someone when, as if on cue, the door burst open.

"Norgey!"

Perfect.

Norway's slender fingers easily looped around the Dane's neck as the tall blond tried to sputter more nonsense not that Norway could be bothered to listen to much else aside from his inner cries of, 'throttle, throttle, throttle.'

* * *

"Ring…ring…ring…"

"Bloody Hell this is ridiculous," England muttered into the phone bitterly. He had hoped he would be in America by now but no. Apparently that bloody American git had to cancel all flights, excluding governmental ones, which England of course couldn't take considering he had to sneak out of his own Parliament building in the first place so here he was in the middle of the God damn Atlantic on some God forsaken 1948 single propeller Cessna.

"You really shouldn't be on the phone. It messes with the instruments-" the pilot called back, noticing the Brit on the phone, "'Sides, you won't find any reception out here."

"No, it's fine. This phone is specia- Hello?"

"Hello? Hey yeah, Dean, I found it."

"Thank Christ, that ringtone was driving me crazy," Dean shuttered recalling the past three minutes they spent listening to 'I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want. So tell me what you want what you really, really want. I'll tell you what I want what I really, really want. If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.'

"Whose damn phone is that anyway?"

"I don't know, let me ask. Hey, so who is this and how did this phone get in our car?"

England faltered at the apparent lack of coordination on the other end of the line.

"I-I'm En-Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. Is- is this Moose?"

* * *

"Moose?" Sam repeated confused.

"Moose?" Dean parroted. "The only one who calls you that is,"

"Crowley," the brothers say in unison.

"I guess that explains the ringtone that sadistic bastard," Dean grumbled.

"Hey, are you related to Crowely? Just what the hell is going on?" Sam asked irritation rife in his tone.

"Ah, well judging by the fact we both know the same unscrupulous associate I am inclined to believe you are the correct person to be talking to."

"…Uh, yeah," Sam replied dumbly.

"Excellent. Where are you? We need to talk."

* * *

"Aru? Is anybody home?"

Silence was the response the Asian nation was met with. Slowly, China walked further into the dimly lit house. The furniture was in a state of complete disarray and gave the abode the appearance of being ransacked but China new better. Quietly, the Chinese nation wandered about the house, straining his ears for a sign of life. _He_ was here, Yao just knew it. The damn brat was just too proud to ask for help and was surely trying to hide from the elder nation.

'I blame Opium,' China thought bitterly ignoring how most of his siblings rejected him now, not just Hong Kong.

Finally, as China passed by the hall closet for the third time that night, he managed to hear a near inaudible hiccup. Pausing, Yao turned to face the door and cautiously reached out a hand, stiffening when his palm hit the cold metal. With all the respect one would face when coming across a dangerous beast, China opened the door. Huddled in the corner sat his former brother, knees pulled tightly to his chest.

"What?" Hong Kong rasped his voice hoarse from sobbing.

China didn't say anything but slowly arranged himself to sit next to the boy, quite a feat considering the small nature of the closet. He didn't use words because he knew nothing he would say that could quell the younger's pain. America and the Asian youth were quite close and despite the boy's adamant protests that he did not care for his pseudo-father England, China knew that to be false. He was merely a boy acting out; perhaps that was why he and America got along so well. Regardless, the young territory was incredibly confused and hurt by the events going on. He hadn't been old enough to remember the American Revolution or many other wars, nor were his alliances the same but now he had made friends, created bonds, and was finally getting a chance to see them break. It was the hardest thing for a fledgling nationality to experience.

"Hush, big brother is here," China cooed, rubbing the back of the younger Asian nation's head affectionately.

* * *

Screams greeted his ear before he could even open his eyes. Not that he'd need too to know where he was. The singeing heat that seared his cheeks, the reek of sulfur that burned his nose and caused him to sputter all led him to believe he was in one place, Hell…or England's kitchen.

Italy blinked. Oh thank goodness. He was only in Hell.

Souls cried as they burned in the pits and were strung up along the racks as if they were common strips of meat ready to be fileted. However, the mournful cries of the souls of men were not alone. Demons cried about them as well. The Italian watched in abject horror as a war waged on beneath him. Italy himself could not be seen. The nation had suffered countless similar nightmares ever since his childhood and learnt early on that they were merely visions. In these dreams, he was only an unseen observer. He couldn't be touched and nor could he touch anyone or anything. It broke his heart on several occasions to see the tormented souls and have no power to save them and he was thankful such visions were normally few and far between.

But more than his distress over the broken souls about him, he was curious as to why the demons were fighting each other. The balance of Heaven and Hell had long been precarious and upsetting as of late but this was unprecedented. Hell was normally ruled with an iron fist leaving little room for dissent.

Italy was pulled from his musing when a hand latched onto his arm. Letting a surprised yip escape his throat, he felt his body being forcibly turned to face his aggressor. A pair of red eyes underscored by thick, curled black lashes met his Amber irises.

"I see you."

* * *

"AHHH!" Romano cried out, clutching his chest. Had more people been in the cabin of the plane, the Italian's outburst would have caused quite the commotion but fortunately, the two had taken Germany's private plane. That didn't stop the pilots from giving the young brunet odd looks however.

"Was ist los?" Germany asked panicked.

"Some-Something's wrong…with Feli," Romano answered in between labored breaths.

"Vat do you mean?" Germany questioned, keeping his voice low as if by speaking louder the danger Felicanio was in would worsen.

"I don't know," Romano admitted between labored pants, "but we need to get to him now. When do we land?"

Germany's eyes shone with worry; worry over the small Italian in front of him and the one he had come to love despite his annoying tendencies. And to think, he had been relieved when Feli told him he was going to visit Japan for a few weeks. Now all he felt was guilt. Even if he couldn't have protected Feli from whatever is going on, at least he would be there with him now. But now was not the time for such thoughts. He didn't even know for sure if Felicanio was in any real trouble. Stealing himself, Germany turned towards the pilots, eyes pleading for an answer to the brunet's question.

"We'll be there within the hour, sir."

"Gut."

* * *

"Come on Al," Matthew huffed into the phone. The blond nation could no longer remember how many times he called his brother now but it had been at least one phone call every five minutes for the past twelve hours.

"This is an automated voice recording. The number you've dialed is not answering. Please leave a message after the beep…BEEP-"

Canada clicked the phone shut. When he found America he'd kill him…then he'd bring him back, kill him again for declaring war on England, and bring him back a final time because England would be sad if America died.

"Hoser," Canada muttered to no one in particular. With a dejected sigh, Canada realized he had but one option. Illegally cross the border…America had closed roadways as well as canceled international flights. But, Canada supposed it was a good thing the American public was so focused on illegal immigrants from the South that the officials hardly noticed those that crossed from the North.

* * *

The airport was crowded and rot with angry civilians and governmental officials alike.

"What do you mean I can't get back to America!? I'm a damn citizen there!"

"I'm sorry sir; like I said before, all flights to America have been suspended over your own governments' orders. Neither, my country, myself, or anybody else can do anything about it!" the, by now, angry teller bit back. Clearly she had had enough of irate Americans and various other passengers complaining to her that they couldn't go home or what not. She understood their dilemma but it's not like she could do anything about it.

"Shiβe" the albino cursed.

The airport was riddled with angry people and no flights to America… sadly.

Gilbert wished more than anything that he had remembered his cell phone right now or at least could remember a few of his fellow nations' numbers. But sadly, in his haste to warn his friends of the danger and fraud that was going on, he left it on his couch like a dumkopf. Now what was he going to do?

"Attention passengers, Flight 623 to Montreal, Canada is now boarding group A. Thank you."

"…Canada… that's America's bruder right? Maybe he can help…" Gilbert sauntered up to the woman at the desk, pushing various people aside.

"Sir, I'm sorry but all flight to Am-"

"-are canceled, I know," Gilbert finished. "I'm curious about flights to Canada though."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for everyone's support and patience! :) I would like to thank my lovely beta, 91RedRoses for proofing this chapter! :) I hope you like the use of all the characters. I'm trying to include as many Hetalia characters as possible and I hope to get some of our favorite Hetalia girls involved at some point too. I also wanted to share with everyone a little tidbit of info I learned today, thanks to my beta, apparently "blonde" tends to refer to a female with blonde hair while blond is for a male. However, English doesn't really use gender specific spellings for hair color so if you use "blonde" to refer to a man, you aren't wrong necessarily. Both are acceptable via English...but French is another story. :) Please enjoy I'll get to work on the next chapter ASAP. Please review!


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